Pain loves silence

      Rumi choked on air as the world seemed to pause. Her skin broke out in goosebumps, cold sweat clung to her back, and her lungs fought for breath. A hursh awakening. It was still deep night outside the window. The quiet moonlight barely filtered through the curtains, casting a chill over her skin. It was too early. Or maybe too late?       It takes a couple seconds for the girl to come to her senses. Her heart is racing, hands shaking, and body aching. The nightmare is still hitting her temples, squeezing the head. Rumi tries to hug herself, but ends up clenching her teeth — the cracks in bones have only just begun to heal. A whole week has passed since the Idol Awards, but the echoes of the battle still haunt the young k-pop star, preventing her from living her life as before.       She’s still in pain. She’s still scared.       Barely managing to get out of the bed, Rumi looks around for sleeping pills. Her bedroom has been noticeably transformed over the past couple days. The desk has moved almost to the middle of the room to make space for the tiger’s bed in the corner, and artificial branches had appeared on the walls for the raven. A slight mess all around the room, the smell of medical drugs and pills lingering in the air. The place turned from a sanctuary into a cold cage of suffocating darkness and silence.       The initial euphoria of victory was gone, followed by joy and calmness. It was hard. Really hard. Almost as if the girl was learning how to live all over again. How to walk, how to talk, how to dress. It felt like the whole world had turned upside down. For her alone, unfortunately. And this weight kept on pressing, making it nearly unbearable.       The girls were doing their best to help Rumi. Huntrix took a break from work, reduced time on social networks, deleted “Takedown” from all disks and devices. Eliminated every possible reminder of what happened, as if it could erase lines from the history books. Rumi understands them. They are trying to move forward, trying to give her some space. They are waiting.       God, if only it were that easy to move on!       Mira keeps talking about how cool the patterns look; Zoey keeps urging her to wear something more open.       Celine stays silent on the phone.       Rumi quietly pulls on her usual high-collared hoodie.       It’s complicated. It’s damn hard, almost suffocating. Everything is open for her now. She must be free, like a bird released from its cage. She’s supposed to enjoy this new world, supposed to love life with no limits. That’s what it feels like. That’s what everyone kept telling her. But the stuff on the table ends up scattered on the floor after another breakdown. Scratches and cracks continue to hurt. And every glance at the billboard outside the window is a freash reminder of the Saja Boys' breakup — loud, inescapable, endless.       It sounded so simple — take a step forward, start living, look ahead, see more. What a shame it doesn’t work that way; that a bird that’s been caged all its life is terrified of freedom.       The bottle of sleeping pills turns up in the raven’s improvised nest, woven from old T-shirts and sweaters. Empty, unfortunately. Rumi lets out a heavy sigh. Completely forgotten she took the last pill yesterday.       Disappointment fades into silence. The girl’s gaze rests on her pets for a few seconds. So peaceful and silly when they sleep: curled up, clinging to each other like there’s no space in the room. Maybe they’re keeping warm. Maybe they’re fighting nightmares too.       Rumi moves closer. Gently runs her hand over blue fur, barely brushes smooth black feathers, then tiptoes out of the room. She won’t be falling back asleep tonight anyway.       The spacious living room greets her with the glow of city lights. The scent of popcorn and ramyeon hits her nose — familiar echoes of Huntrix hangouts. Rumi walks slowly to the couch, a faint smile appearing on her lips at the memory of the evening. Movies, music, dozens of comments from adoring fans. And quiet, heavy heart-to-hearts, touched by sadness and slight regret.       All week long, Mira and Zoey had been trying to fill the blanks in the leader’s story. A few days ago, for instance, she finally opened up to them about her childhood. Stripped her soul down to its ugliest moments. How she grew up with a shame and a crushing sense of duty, how she prayed herself hoarse every damn night, how she was terrified of making friends because she felt so worthless. She remembered the worst days too. When things were really bad; when her heart ached over her own wrongness; when it seemed like it would be better to just end it all once and for all.       Opening up had been hard. Far harder than grueling trainings and rehearsals. She would remember that feeling forever. Like tearing open her entire soul, stirring up a cloud of dust and ash to dig out the most hidden and vulnerable parts — and then striking right there. Her heart had pounded like a drum, a chill ran across her skin. And the tears rained down heavily, sewing up a fresh wound, thread by thread.       Rumi gathered all the pillows into a pile beside the couch and fell into them. A lump formed in her throat from the pain. The doctor’s words still rang sharply in her ears: multiple bruises, a couple of fractures in her arms.       “How on earth did you manage to?”       She squinted for a few seconds, trying to get used to the discomfort. She told herself: it was nothing compared to what they had accomplished. Just a few scratches. Just trivial wounds.       But in the dark, the image of the demon kept surfacing again and again.       Her heart skipped a beat once more, her lungs tightened under the pressure of invisible chains. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but Rumi wiped it away immediately. Nausea crept up her throat, her head started to buzz — the machine had started, gears spinning. Like a broken record, Celine’s voice echoed: “Our faults and fears must never be seen.” Keep it cool. Stay silent. But for some reason, the heaviness in her chest didn’t go away. The abyss had no bottom. In fact, it felt like it was only getting deeper, day by day.       She wondered how much it would hurt — to finally fall.       Her gaze wandered across the view from the panoramic window, searching for even the slightest bit of comfort. She followed the cars passing below, studied the ads on the massive billboards, stared at the tiny dots of laughing tourists, hungover students, and overworked office employees. The gaze rested on the glowing Honmoon — new, strong, unwavering.       “It was worth it,” Mira’s words surfaced in her mind.       And Rumi finally broke.       She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in them. Tears soaked the fabric of her pants, soundless screams dissolved into the air. All that remained was silence and the shattering agony in it.       When would it let her go? When would the hole in her chest begin to heal? When would she wake up with the feeling that she made it?       When would she finally take the broken Saja Boys stick from the box under her bed and throw it the hell away?       “Rumi?”       She flinched. The sobs caught in her throat, tears froze on her lashes, trembling with every breath. Zoey’s voice struck something deep inside her. So quiet, so careful. As if she were afraid to scare her off — or afraid to break her completely. As if speaking just a bit louder, with just a bit more certainty, would cause Rumi to fall apart, shattering into pieces.       “Why aren’t you asleep?” — the words rasped out, raw and uneven, her feelings clawing at her throat. Rumi tried, with everything she had, to shove them deeper, to hide them where no one could possibly find. She wiped the wet streaks from her cheeks, clasped her hands together to still the stupid tremor. She almost managed it.       Almost. Because all it took was turning around, catching the worry on her friend’s face — and the walls started to crack again.       “What about you?”       “Nightmare.”       “Again?”       “Yeah,” came the quiet mumble.       Zoey stepped in closer. Sat down right beside her, rested her head on Rumi’s strong shoulder. She didn’t dare meet her eyes. Because it’s scary — terrifying, actually — when the person who had always been your rock suddenly couldn’t hold it together anymore.       “Is it about him?”       Rumi didn’t rush to answer. Her heart pounded in her temples again, her fingers went cold and stiff. This was the hardest part. Learning to speak. Every time felt like the first. Because it… it hurt. Like tearing at your own skin with nails; like the burn of molten steel. Maybe that’s why they teach you how to speak from childhood — because in silence, it hurts so much longer.       Rumi recalled every promise she’d made — to speak, to be honest, to stop holding herself back. She needed this, and she knew it. So she tried to drown out Celine’s voice in her head and exhaled, sinking into the night.       The nightmare flashes before her eyes again. Dark, suffocating, clinging like tar. Real. It happened. It remained in her memory. And it would stay with her until the end of her days.       “Not just him,” came the faint rasp a few minutes later. “I see him, I see all of you. I see Gwi-Ma.” Her fingers clenched into fists on their own, and Zoey rushed to cover them with hers, afraid Rumi might hurt herself. “I see him taking Jinu, devouring hundreds of souls… They’re all screaming. Screaming so loudly, Zoey — it’s unbearable! And every, every single one of them begs me to save them. And I… I can’t. I just can't.”       Rumi shruggled helplessly and bit her lip. She saw it every night. Every damn time she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. It felt like any moment now, it would drag her under like quicksand. She’d drown — vanish completely.       She was terrified she’d see those violet patterns on her skin again. Terrified that the shame of her own uselessness would be the final nail in her coffin. She wouldn’t survive a hit like that.       She couldn’t bear it again.       “I'm on the edge. I swore to protect them. Swore to hold Honmoon, to save people! And I failed, Zoey. I couldn’t save them, you understand? I failed!”       “The blame isn’t yours alone, Rumi.”       “No, don’t…”       “Please, just listen,” Zoey all but begged. She allowed herself a little more — scooted closer and wrapped an arm around Rumi’s shoulders. Held her so tightly it hurt them both. But that pain was nothing compared to what churned inside their hearts. “We’re all to blame. All three of us. You shouldn’t be carrying this weight alone, shouldn’t be taking all the guilt onto yourself. That’s not fair. It’s just not fair…”       Tears hit the floor with a sharp thud. Rumi turned to Zoey, burying her face in her friend’s neck like a child. Celine’s words kept pounding against her eardrums, forcing her to cling to Zoey like to the last thread of hope.       “But that doesn’t make my guilt any less.”       “No, it doesn’t,” said a firm voice from across the room.       The girls turned, locking eyes with Mira. Footsteps echoed. Slow and heavy at first. Then quick, desperate. Mira pulled them both into a tight embrace. Held them close, as if trying to shield them from the rest of the world. She didn’t rush them, didn’t demand anything — just waited patiently for their emotions to settle. Waited until they were ready to hear her.       “But we fought to the very end. We did everything we could. That matters more than what we couldn’t do. We made it, girls,” Mira’s words settled deep in their souls, raising goosebumps along their skin. Such a simple phrase. So necessary, right here, right now. “No matter what, we saved so many people. They believed in us. Gave us the strength to keep fighting. And we did. We made it.”       Mira’s voice lingered in the air like a whispering echo. That's when the silence came. The sounds of the street faded away. Scents, tastes — gone. Slowly, the sun began to rise, its golden light melting into the bluish sheen of Honmoon. The Huntrix remained seated in the spacious hall, wrapped in quietness, letting the pain pass through them. Flowing through their veins like sharp needles, leaving behind a thousand tiny cuts. Letting it hurt — really hurt — one last, unbearable time.       Pain loves silence.       “Wanna hit the bathhouse?” a hoarse voice finally breaks the stillness.       The room fills with quiet laughter and soft murmurs.       And in silence it remains.